Not the King of His Castle
by Jayce Gish
Summary: Takes place at end of Season 2: Castle kicked to the curb, lost to Demming for Beckett's affections and then a new unexpected reality rears its ugly head. C/B, new original characters, outside influences. Might get steamier as it progresses.
1. Chapter 1

**NOT THE KING OF HIS CASTLE **

**[OKAY - this is my first time posting anything. Will probably get a lot spicer as I go on and I will change rating. I'm anticipating: This story starts at what is probably the end of Season 2 and just before the start of Season 3, when Beckett (IMHO, just a guess) kicks our boy to the curb, favoring her new NYPD eye candy beau. I need any and all comments, suggestions, and a good murder plot: I have the character elements but not satisied with the crime. Thanks!]**

**I'm having lots of difficulties loading new Chapters; hope to get this all set tonight and not as separate entries. (I'm a highly dyslexic author.) All comments welcome. Thanks!**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

CASTLE WAS IN a bad mood. No, make that a really bad mood. A depression that possibly was darker than the rainstorm that was letting loose just outside of the floor-to-ceiling window that the man was leaning against with his left forearm, his right hand occupied with holding a now-cold cup of coffee. His cotton shirt was wrinkled due to the two days of continued usage. He needed a shower and a shave. Not that he cared. He was wallowing in full self-indulgence and self-pity, which caused his mood most foul. And, when Richard Edgar Castle was in a bad mood, those especially close to him knew from experience to keep their distance. During the course of the long morning, Castle's mother had twice looked into her son's loft office from a safe distance, knowing that nothing she could say would help. Castle's daughter, Alexis, had made a quick exit several hours earlier as she escaped to her school, leaving her grandmother to try to gently reason with her son. Both women knew that this would not be a successful venture. And, as the storm continued, the man just kept staring into the rain.

Rick Castle, basically, had been blessed by the gods: tall, handsome, and very rich (thanks to his authoring of over 26 best selling murder mystery novels), with blue eyes that usually reflected a rare mixture of a Quixotic boyish charm and an impish sense of self-importance. He had a devoted daughter in Alexis, a loving (albeit eccentric) mother in Martha (a former Broadway and minimally successful Hollywood actress), and two ex-wives that usually managed to stay close to his bank account but remain an adequate distance away from him physically, until they needed another return visit to his bank account. However, as may easily be deducted from the fact that the man had two ex-wives, Richard Castle was not lucky in love. And, very recently, the woman who he presently considered to be his muse, NYPD Detective Kate Beckett, and who was also the source of inspiration for his 27th and 28th best selling novels, had been spending all of her time with her new almost-but-not-quite-the-image-of-Castle boyfriend. Not with Castle, but with another member of the New York Police Force, another detective, another tall, handsome, blue-eyed man that, simply put, was not Richard Edgar Castle.

And that was why Rick Castle was in such a really bad mood. He usually got what he wanted with a minimum of fuss, and often without a maximum of effort. Not that he didn't work for what he had achieved; but there was a difference between hard labor for eight hours a day, at least five days a week, and spending an hour or so each day typing on a keyboard in his loft penthouse knowing now that he already had more money than he (and his two ex-wives, a mother, and a teenage daughter) could ever spend in this lifetime. This was something new, and the man didn't like how it was taking over his days and especially invading his nights. There were no more words flowing from his brain down to his fingers. That had been annoying enough: He had experienced brief bouts of writer's block before on rare ocasions, but his ability to concentrate had completely vanished. All he could think about was what where "they" doing, and where were they doing "it"? No other thoughts invaded his usually clever brain, except the realization that Beckett was not now and may never again be a daily presence in his life.

That stomach wrenching tightening in his gut returned. Two days of coffee was probably not the best diet choice, but he wasn't hungry. All he could do was obsess on what he had lost. Ironically, it may have been something he might never had actually had. Castle was obsessed, and for the first time in his life, he was jealous. Even if he could somehow write about Detective Nikki Heat, the heroine of his latest two books that were so closely based on his association with Kate Beckett, he couldn't concentrate on murder when all he could think of was the color of her hair, the softness of her skin, the curves of her body. The body that he could imagine pressing against his. The quick touches when they sat next to each other, the answers they gave in unison by chance, the smell of her skin. . . Castle tried to turn away from the window, but that meant letting in the realization that he was alone in his loft. After all, who wanted to read about "the one that got away"? And, more importantly, he certainly didn't want to write about it.

"Damn rain" he muttered for the twentieth time that day, the handle of the coffee cup still held between his finders on his right hand.

Martha had had enough. "Richard, dear . . ."

"Bite it, Mother." Some days, it served to be more direct than on other days.

It would take more than attitude to dissuade the outspoken Martha Rogers from addressing her son. "Kiddo, I think it is time for you to do something. Get out of the house, Dear. Take a walk. . ."

Castle finally succeeded in turning his head away from the downpour to look at her. "It's raining," he replied, rather icily.

"So I've noticed." Martha stood her ground. It wasn't always easy dealing with her nearly 40 year old toddler.

"What do you suggest? I go down to the station and get looks of pity from the entire squad? I didn't believe her when she said she had a boyfriend; I thought it was an imaginary friend, one created to get a rise out of me. . ." His voice dropped an octave lower as he slowly shook his head in disbelief. "No one even tried to tell me otherwise."

Before Martha could correct that statement, he suddenly remembered the coffee cup in his hand. He took a deep swig and instantly regretted that decision. "This is as bad as the coffee used to be . . ."

Without warning, Castle's brain started replaying all of the times he had complained about the squad room's coffee during his first months of shadowing Detective Beckett, and how he had bought for the squad the top of the line espresso and cappuccino brewer to replace the standard brown handled institutional coffee maker that was the source of his caffeinated displeasure. And, how he had enjoyed the simple task of getting Beckett her morning coffee, not to mention the time he had spilled a mug of the brew all over the front of her blouse. .

He snapped off the memories. "Mother, don't you have someplace to go to, something to do, someone else to torture?" He roughly put down the coffee cup on his desk. He didn't even notice the five other mugs in the immediate vicinity, so out of character for the neat freak.

Martha didn't miss the controlled rage in her son's movements.

"I'm going out for lunch. Do you wish to join me? Just a few of us old hoofers are heading down to the Seaport. I'm sure you'll be welcomed."

Castle shook his head. If he was the kind of person to sigh, he would have. Instead, there was just a heavy pause, followed by his soft deep baritone tone. The thought of all that estrogen was too much to bear. "Mother, I'm sorry. I think it's pretty clear that I'm not good company for anyone." He walked over to the doorway and kissed Martha on the cheek. "You go and have a good time. Tell the ladies I send my love."

Martha looked up at her son and placed her hands on his well developed upper arms, as if she was trying to rub energy into the muscles under the wrinkled sleeves. "I'm sorry you're going through this, Richard. I wish I had some magic words, a wave of my hand, and all would be right with the universe again." Her right hand reached up to his forehead and brushed back a thick lock of his brown hair that refused to stay put.

That familiar gesture made him smile gently for the first time in several days. "You're my mother, not my fairy godmother. Do you want me to call for the car?"

"I've already done so. It should be here by the time I get downstairs. Good night, my dear boy." The fact that his mother had yet again commandeered his limo was not lost on Castle. Indeed, it was almost a reassuring sign that the earth was continuing to spin on its axis.

"Goodbye, Mother."

Castle watched as Matha made her usual dramatic exit, using her umbrella like a majorette's baton, as she departed from the two story loft that the three of them called home. It was an unusual arrangement, but it suited them just fine. Since Alexis' mother was based in Los Angeles, Castle had asked his mother to move in with them to keep an eye on the 15 year old. Or, that was the excuse Rick had used, knowing that Martha's latest boyfriend had managed to run off with all of his mother's retirement savings. While the real reason for her relocation to her son' loft was never mentioned outside of the family, Rick usually thrived in having her so close by. Well, usually. In contrast, his daughter Alexis was the "normal" one of the family, an excellent student who was more of an adult than her own father, as she kept one eye on her grandmother, and her other eye on her dad. Yeah, Castle had to admit that, despite the neverending theatrics that Martha usually surrounded herself with, he was lucky insofar as his immediate family was concerned.

Which made the fact that he had been mentally toying with the idea of expanding that immediate family to include the addition of Beckett even harder to face.

His cell phone rang. He pounced on it. "Castle."

It was the Captain. "We got a murder. Interested?"

Castle scribbled down the address. He'd somehow have to find a taxi in the rain thanks to his Mom, but at least it gave him something ese to occupy his mind. He had one more Nikki Heat novel to write under his present contract, and then his relationship with Kate Beckett would be completed, sealed, and buried. If his mind ever pemitted a moment without a memory of Beckett. And, discarding his present shirt for a new one, he donned his raincoat from the downstairs closet, he was out the door.

* * *

CASTLE HAD WALKED north almost eight blocks before he found a yellow cab to take him to the address he had been given. Despite now being thoroughly drenched, the mere action of having gotten out of the loft had given his spirits a small lift, just as his mother had pointed out. Of course, if Beckett was at the scene, any continuing improvement in his attitude could easily be a moot point.

As the cab neared the corner, he spotted Beckett's tall, slim silhouette standing on the sidewalk. "Common, grow a pair," he muttered to himself after he paid the cabby.

Several eyebrows went up as he exited the vehicle and walked the few feet toward them.

"And, where is the limo?" asked one of the detectives. He had never seen Richard Castle take transportation of the commoners.

"My mother has it. If she gets wet, she melts. Now, what do we have?"

* * *

**Reviews, please. Again, I'm still trying to load the next 5 chapters . . . obviously, I'm not a computer programming genuis.**


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Katalina Goldwyn Bakker knocked three times on the front door of the Castle loft, and then quickly moved to the far left of the entrance and tightly closed her eyes. And then, as she waited, she slowly counted to herself until she reached the number ten. Despite the fact that for over the past thirteen years she had been carrying the key to the front door on her key ring, for more than the past few years, she always knocked, stepped to the left, and then shut her eyes tightly. And counted.

Admittedly, there had only been one incident, and that was over seven or eight or maybe nine years ago, when Castle had abruptly opened the door dressed in what was best described as "a hangover, wearing a new tattoo, and not much else". He wasn't embarrassed in the least, but in her role as the official Castle family lawyer, Katalina Goldwyn Bakker was of the opinion that she already knew enough Castle family secrets; and, so, she performed this little piece of choreography to prevent herself from acquiring even more knowledge.

However, after almost thirty seconds of silence, it was becoming apparent that no one was home this early afternoon. Katalina took a few short steps to the right, inserted her key into the lock, and cracked open the door just wide enough for her head to enter the living area. "Hello? Anybody? Richard Edgar? Alexis? Martha, are you here?" There was only silence. Remembering another incident that involved her walking into an episode of some sort of laser tag and quickly becoming a prisoner of some alien race apparently led by Alexis, Katalina called out one last time, this time chancing an advance of her shoulders as she leaned in and turned her head to ensure that no one was lying in wait behind the door. "Okay, last chance. Is anyone home?" It was very quiet, far too quiet for any member of the Castle family to be in the premises. After all, the words "quiet" and "reserved" applied to no known member of Castle's family tree, living or dead.

Apparently satisfied that she was not walking into a den of vampires or whatever scenario Richard Edgar Castle might have created under the guise of "research", Katalina relaxed somewhat, still not totally convinced that some marginally mature writer might yet make a sudden and perhaps maniacal appearance. She turned her body to pick up her briefcase that she had left in the hall before starting her ritual entrance, and only then did she enter the loft.

"What I go through for Richard Edgar. . ." she muttered as she shut the door behind her and made sure it was locked before turning to the alarm panel and deactivating it with her personal code. Only then did she proceed physically into the space with her briefcase as she dropped her keys into the side pocket of the bag.

Katalina had been a new associate at a prestigious mid-town law firm when Richard Edgar Castle had first spied her those years ago. He was being lectured by Attorneys Zimmerman, Watkins, and Feltcher about the need for decorum when appearing at his increasingly popular book signings, and how autographing the cleavage of his adoring female fans was perhaps not presenting the best side of the twenty-seven year old author with the very promising career ahead of him. Castle found his attention wandering from the topic. Heck, he thought, I'm a good looking single male with lots of time on my hands and in the presence of lots of women. If I want to autograph a few tits, I'm gonna do just that. And, at that moment

Although she had walked past several glass paned offices that housed males of varying ages and apparent physical ability, all wearing ties and jackets in varying shades of navy or charcoal gray, no one had offered to help the just over five foot tall woman with her burden. After a few more steps, it was becoming very apparent to Katalina that she had misjudged not only the distance to her cubicle, but also her strength and the weight of the banker's box. There was no way around the physics: She was not going to be able to complete the journey to the far end of the hall before the contents became too heavy for her to carry. Accordingly, she started to frantically look for a place to rest the box. Unfortunately, she didn't see any such space at the ready. And then, the box began to slip from her grasp. "Oh, damn . . ."

That was the moment when she discovered that a tall, ruggedly handsome man had appeared from out of nowhere and was easily relieving her of the weight of the box. "Ma'am," he said as he winked, smiled, and mimed the doffing of a large brimmed cowboy hat, "I always make it a priority to assist any and all damsels in distress." Katalina thought him somewhat familiar although she couldn't remember any details about where or when they might have previously met. Still, she couldn't help but notice that he handled the heavy box with great ease using only one hand. A quick glance up at him showed a muscular forearm and a well developed bicep that seemed to be trying to escape from the confines of his white cotton shirt. "Where do you want this?" he asked her, turning a graceful 360 degree circle in the hall without seeing any plausible destination in sight. When he turned back to face her directly, she noted his dancing blue eyes and she thought, correctly, that every woman he had ever encountered with that expression of concentration, had thought the exact same thought that was crossing Katalina's mind at this moment: Wow! Yeah, this man was the exception to the rule. Whatever rule that was. And, she really didn't care. But she forced herself to return to reality for the time being.

"Ah, all the way down the hall . . ." was as far as Katalina got. The man made another fluid half turn on his heels and turned his attention to the inhabitants of the conference room, all of whom Katalina instantly identified. To her horror, she realized that her self-appointed delivery boy had probably bailed out of the conference room while meeting with three of the four most senior partners of the firm. And, despite the fact that she had clearly needed some immediate assistance, the top brass was not at all amused as to this turn of events.

As the man turned in profile, Katalina suddenly realized why he seemed so familiar. Although she had seen his face for years on the dust jackets of his books; she had almost failed to identify him in the flesh. Of course! This was Richard Castle, the young best selling mystery writer, and one of the firm's most important clients. And, she was solely responsible for disrupting whatever legal business they had been in the middle of conducting. Katalina realized that, after almost a full year at the firm, she was about to be instantly labeled as a known disruption. That was not a good thing to be known as – associates were like mice, to be where they were instructed to be, doing what needed to be done, and to toil unnoticed for as long as it took to get noticed, if that ever actually happened.

Katalina quickly deduced the dynamics that were being displayed to all concerned. Richard Castle seemed more than happy to hang out with her outside of the conference room. In fact, he seemed almost eager to remain at a distance from the senior partners, one of whom was making less than subtle glances at the Rolex on his wrist while simultaneously giving her dismissive glances. That fact seemed lost on Castle, who kept smiling at the much shorter woman, while he was still holding onto the file box, and remaining secure in the knowledge that he, not Zimmerman, was in control of the situation. And, Richard Castle clearly enjoyed being the one in charge.

Castle was no fool; he enjoyed allowing others to underestimate his superior intelligence, and then, when the timing was right, he seemed to effortlessly soar above all others when he decided it was the time to flex his mind. He had fully realized that pattern of behavior at an early age, and it quickly became his modus operandi. Many of his opponents never knew what hit them, and to be honest, despite having a muscular, solid build on his six foot plus frame, Rick Castle preferred out thinking his opponents to resorting to physical force. Castle knew the value of charm, and he knew that he could not only sell ice cubes to Eskimos, but if he really turned on the charm, he could overcharge and they still would line up to purchase his frozen water.

Castle's initial best selling murder mystery had been published shortly after the college student had celebrated his twenty-first birthday. Almost no one knew that he had started writing while in junior high in order to keep himself occupied (and out of trouble) while his mother, the stage actress Martha Rogers, was on tour in some new city every few weeks. Martha, determined to remain a working actress despite the presence of a son, had simply brought Richard along, often treating him either as a pet or as a prop as she auditioned, rehearsed, and acted. Castle's life was one of a nomadic existence, ruled by his mother's needs at that time. While men were a part of his mother's life, they were merely part of a frequently changing cast in his mother's world, and made little impact on the boy. And, being the very intelligent being that he was, Castle realized that someday it was going to be up to him to care for Martha. So, if writing would allow him to accomplish this goal, he accepted his fate. He had allowed his publisher, Black Pawn, to manipulate his image to generate maximum sales to romance-starved female readers, knowing that if he was a success by age 21, he would never need to look back.

Castle spoke again. True to form, he had again dismissed Zimmerman and was addressing the associate. "Sorry, where did you say should I be taking this for you?"

Zimmerman didn't even glance up from the collection of contracts that had been spread over the conference table and were awaiting Castle's signature. "It doesn't matter. She doesn't work here anymore."

Castle's left eyebrow arched upwards, seemingly almost reaching his hairline. "I'm sorry to hear that, Roger. Then I guess our relationship just reached an impass." As that sentence was being digested by Zimmerman, Castle unceremoniously dropped the box onto the table with a loud thud. He glanced at the woman who was taking the news of her newly acquired unemployment status with considerable calmness. "By the way, I'm Richard Castle. And you are. . .?"

"Goldwyn. Katalina Goldwyn. I kind of figured out who you are, Mr. Castle. Sorry, I haven't read any of your books, I'm not a big fan of murder mysteries. I prefer science fiction. No malice intended. I don't want you to take that comment as an insult."

He appreciated her honesty. "Call me Rick. Actually, Richard Castle. Rick Castle. Richard Edgar. Richard Edgar Castle. Pick one, pick a combination, I'm still figuring which of my names I'm gonna use from here on. Hey, are you a lawyer?"

"Contractual. Or, I was until about two minutes ago."

From his tall vantage point, Castle allowed himself to do what he enjoyed doing: this was a somewhat attractive female, obviously intelligent, considerably shorter than he was, and he was looking down the front of her blouse. More than adequate, he thought, actually quite generous; she filled it out nicely. And, although it was tougher these days to be certain, they looked real. Too bad he didn't have the opportunity to cop a feel, he'd like to know for certain. Before she could realize what he was doing, he moved his focus to the top of her head. He couldn't see any dark roots. A platinum blonde with green eyes, a full rack, and a legal degree. He could do worse. He dropped his voice. "You any good?" he asked.

She decided to allow the double entendre to slide past her without further comment, replying to his three word questions without any further hesitation. "I'd like to think so. Undergrad degree from the University of Connecticut, then, Yale Law School. Interned in Washington, D.C. And, for a Senator, no less. Yeah, I'd say I'm good." She looked up at him, and took a step closer to the man. He was taller than she had initially thought. He had to have at least a foot of height over her. 'And, most importantly, Richard Edgar, I'm the worker bee who wrote what you were supposed to be signing this afternoon." She paused. "Personally, if I were you, I wouldn't sign. Certainly, not in it's present state. And more certainly, not without reading it very, very carefully."

So much for my career, she thought. Take rifle, shoot self in foot. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Taking Castle's lead, she refused to look at Zimmerman and concentrated her focus on Castle's blue eyes, a rather enjoyable task.

Castle heard the remnants of a New England accent. She had probably worked on trying to eliminate it, but he thought it was charming. And, he was interested. "How was the Senate?"

She laughed. Castle liked her laugh. It was operatic in nature, effortlessly running through at least three octaves. "Lots of hot air."

Castle realized that he was looking at her from a different perspective. And Castle, being who he was, decided on the spot that this was the lady lawyer for him. Heck with the stuffed shirt who had his name first on the masthead of the firm, he wanted to deal with the zaftig platinum blonde with the big tits, the green eyes, and the lyrical laugh. He'd mention his preference for tighter sweaters later. It could be fun. Fun for them both.

For the first time since he had first seen her, Castle turned to the stuffed shirts in the conference room. "Zimmerman, you're fired. I never liked you. And, since you had already terminated this lawyer, she is technically no longer an employee, there is no conflict of interest. Katalina, congratulations, you're now my lawyer. Tomorrow you will be at my place and together we'll review the paperwork. I'm guessing it is highly favorable to this firm?"

"Count on it."

"Can you eliminate that? Kind of equalize the playing field? That's if I reconsider my decision to leave . . ?"

It was her turn to smile. "Just watch me."

Yeah, this felt right. He would have to face his mother when she got home from her play reading, but it just felt right to him. "Here. . ." He removed a key from his keychain and handed it to her. "This is your key. I prefer to conduct all of my business within my home. I see enough paper, no reason for me to carry it all over the City. That will be your job." He picked up the banker's box from the table and gracefully motioned at the contracts on the table with his fingers. "I'll take the pile on the left, you take the pile on the right, and we'll compare notes tomorrow. You a coffee drinker? I have a great cappuccino machine. We'll let Zimmerman know in about a week whether his services are still necessary. Need to clean out your desk?" Richard Castle suddenly paused and looked at her. "And, we have to discuss tighter sweaters for you."

She shook her head. "Not until I loose at least another 25 pounds. Then, I'll take it under advisement."

He smiled at her. The line had been drawn, and she was willing to play to some extent. This could be interesting a little further down the line. "Heard and acknowledged," the author replied. She put the last of the contracts was into the box that he was holding. Castle decided that he had had enough of being an adult.

"For the hell of it, let's take all the paper clips in your desk. Shall we?"

Neither of them paid any attention to the stuffed shirts as he followed her out of the conference room turning left toward her cubical. If either of them were uneasy at the sudden business relationship, neither gave a hint.

Katalina patted the side pocket in her briefcase. The key to Castle's front door was there. The same key he had given her the day they had met. Since then, she had married and divorced Norman Baker. It had been a big mistake, and Castle had held her hand throughout the ordeal, never reminding her that he had tried to tell her not to do it. In turn, she had been there for him during his quickie marriage and even quicker divorce from Gina. She knew that Castle was troubled by the stigma of having been divorced twice. At least he had his Alexis, not to mention Martha. As for the "them" part of the equation, she was still trying to loose those last 25 pounds, so although Castle kept asking about the tighter sweaters, she continued to hold him off.

Of course, she had proven to be as smart as Castle, and between the two of them, Castle's wealth had not only increased, but Katalina had enabled Castle to know that, whatever might occur in the future, his mother would never have to rely on her acting salary, and Castle knew that of something was to happen to him tomorrow, Alexis would never know poverty.

That thought led her to the reason she was here today. She made her way into the kitchen to boil water for a cup of tea. Castle had phoned her 48 hours earlier and dropped a bombshell. He informed her that his reserve unit had been activated and he would be shortly on his way to Afghanistan. Martha did not yet know, and Alexis did not yet know. Castle had told her that he would inform them this evening. However he had a much more important task for her to perform.

He had asked to change his will. He wanted to name someone new to watch over Alexis, just in case he failed to return, and he had requested this new person be added immediately.

Katalina had some idea of who Detective Katherine Beckett, aka Nikki Heat, actually was. But she didn't know how the Detective would welcome the news that she was about to have five million dollars deposited to her bank account, courtesy of Richard Castle. And, when Katalina began her due diligence only to discover that Beckett had a boyfriend, she knew she needed to find out what was really behind Castle's intentions.

She did not welcome the conversation. "Maybe I should have lost the weight, Richard Edgar's hands would be foundling my breasts on a continual basis, and I'd own the world's largest collection of thin, tight sweaters," she muttered half to herself and half to the teapot.

Katalina then began organizing the documents the man would need to sign to accomplish his goals. Katalina did not smile until she heard Castle's key in the front door nearly two hours later.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

CASTLE opened the door and proceeded to stare rather dumbly at the three uniformed figures standing in an at ease position outside of his loft entry. It took less than three seconds for the author to move his focus from the perfectly pressed uniforms to the envelope that the middle soldier was holding out to him in his gloved hands. Castle crossed his arms in refusal of the envelope. "I was told, no, I was promised, that I would not be called up again." He was calmly addressing both the Master Sergeant, the universe, and God at the same time with the single statement. There were no replies.

The Master Sergeant was flanked by two of the most massive M.P.s that Castle had ever seen and which he suspected had been assigned to New York City specifically to serve these orders on him. Actually, he was correct. The pair, who had never previously set foot on the East Coast, had been hand picked solely for this assignment, and they were selected on the basis they were physically stronger and taller than Castle himself. Apparently, the U.S. Army had learned from experience that calling up Castle could involve a naked romp through Central Park on a stolen police horse, and they weren't taking any more chances. Standing at 6'6" each, the pair far exceeded Castle's almost 6'2", with equally massive shoulders, overly defined chests, and generous biceps that necessitated custom-made shirts. Castle also noted that their side arms were at the ready should he offer any resistence. This time, the Pentagon had come prepared.

"Captain Castle, there was a change of plan." Castle the civilian knew that the Master Sergeant had been carefully briefed to give minimal comments. Castle the Captain had not yet been allowed to make an appearance by Castle the civilian, nor would Castle willingly give permission.

"No shit", Castle replied as he glared at the uniformed trio, happy that both his mother and daughter were out of town for an additional 24 hours on a school outing to tour colonial Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts with Alexis' class. They were not expected back home until Saturday afternoon. As such, the two females were spared the show of force that had appeared at Richard Castle's door.

The Master Sergeant sighed slightly and then seemed to remember that he was, at all times, supposed to be in charge of the situation. In actuality, when the orders for Castle's reactivation had come through, everyone assigned to the activation unit had cut a deck of cards: The Master Sergeant, obviously, had drawn the lowest card and lost.

Castle slowly shook his head, once to the left, and then once to the right. "This is not a good time for me." He was still unsure of what steps to take in so far as his nonexistent relationship with Detective Beckett was concerned. At least once an hour over the past three weeks Castle had screamed at himself for telling Detective Thomas Demming that Castle had no feelings nor claims on Kate Beckett, and that the field was clear if Demming was interested. As soon as the words had left his mouth, Castle had known no rest. Detective Demming had almost immediately begun integrating himself with Beckett on a more personal level, drawing her into friendly yet spirited conversations, and inviting her to use him as a sparing partner in their ever increasingly more physical encounters in the precinct gymnasium.

For his part, Castle just couldn't seem to break his habit of smart ass comments to the beautiful woman, and he had noted that, quite rightly, Beckett was choosing to spend less time with him and electing to spend more with Demming. And, as he realized that he was being silently pushed away by Beckett in favor of the detective previously assigned to the Robbery Division, his comments to Kate Beckett had become even sharper in tone.

What was worse, the entire squad was taking notice. Twice yesterday, Detective Esposito had given Castle warning glances that he needed to ease back on his criticism of Demming while Beckett was standing within hearing distance.

Unfortunately, Castle's mouth had a brain of its own, and once it started flapping, its owner was unable to bring it under control.

Yeah, clearly the score was now standing at: Demming – 2; Castle -0.

As the Master Sergeant cleared his throat, Castle returned to the reality of what was standing in his hallway. The central figure of the trio again extended the envelope. "Sir, you need to accept this," he stated, and slightly waved the envelope in an attempt to get Castle to take the paperwork that contained his orders.

Castle kept his arms folded across his chest. No other movement appeared to be forthcoming.

After an additional 30 seconds of this stand off, the Master Sergeant reached forward toward Castle with the envelope and tucked it between Castle's chest and his crossed arms. "Sorry, Captain. . ." He seemed to suddenly catch himself. "Sorry, Major. You've been promoted, Major Castle. Congratulations."

He looked at Castle's face. No change at all in Castle's stoic expression was evident. The blue eyes, usually so alive and sparkling, were icy and cold.

The Master Sergeant continued. "48 hours, Major. Let us know where you will be, and we will take to your transportation to Washington where you will be briefed and receive your complete orders. We do not have the clearance to present them to you at this time, so you will need to remain in continual contact with us. We depart in exactly 48 hours from this time, Sir," he repeated, and looked at his watch to verify the exact time of their departure. "Ah, my fault, exactly 47 and one-half hours. There is a deadline for you to arrive at the Pentagon by, and we have orders to observe that time table." He paused and looked into Castle's eyes.

"Sir, we have no desire to make this transition any more difficult for you or for your family. We most certainly do not want a repeat of the last time. . ." His voice trailed off.

That comment registered with the author. Castle's voice was low and unhappy. "My family is presently out of town; they are not returning until tomorrow afternoon."

The Master Sergeant shook his head. "I'm sorry to hear that, Sir, but I have my orders."

"No leigh way in my reporting time? Any at all?"

"Sir, sorry, but no. You were originally ordered to accompany us; the Colonel fought to grant you those additional 48 hour. Please use them wisely. Make any arrangements, banking, financial matters. After what happened on your last deployment . . .the Colonel felt that that was the least he could do. As it now stands, you will be the last of your unit to report."

Castle did his best NOT to remember what had happened to him during his previous deployment in the First Gulf War, Desert Storm. There were seven members of the U.S. Army that owed their lives to Castle's intervention, and that included Colonel Craig Foster. While that was fine with Castle, he thought he had paid too high of a price, with the months of nightmares that had accompanied him back to New York City. He refused to discuss it with his family, who were told that he had never left the support base in Germany. They had no knowledge of his months in Mossel and the weeks of nightly forays into Pakistan, nor the firefights or the suicide bombers.

Luckily, the military had agreed to Castle's wishes to keep his mother and daughter in the dark about what his duty had actually consisted of. However, he had to make a trade-off for the Army to keep his secret, that being an additional recall should they have need of his services. And, apparently, they had not forgotten.

Money did actually have a purpose: Castle found a good psychologist in Connecticut and started twice a week visits. After several months, the nightmares had become less intense, and within another six months, he was trying to write again. Nothing was of worth, but it had allowed Richard Castle the opportunity to return to sanity.

The Master Sergeant again cleared his throat, and Castle brought himself back to reality yet again. "Forty-eight hours, Major. Until then . . ." He sharply saluted Castle, who did not return the courtesy.

"I'm still a civilian," he noted.

"Yes, Sir. Your new insignias are in the envelope. Please be sure that you remove your Captain's bars before you report. The time table for transportation is going to be very tight to get you to where you need to be on Sunday at nineteen hundred hours." The man in the uniform saluted again. To his surprise, Castle smartly returned the salute.

Good, thought the Master Sergeant, the mental transformation from civilian to soldier has already begun. With that, Castle closed the door and didn't open it for the remainder of the evening.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Castle had set the deadbolt on the door, walked into the kitchen, and poured himself a generous portion of scotch by the time the trio of soldiers had walked to the end of the hall. By the time the elevator doors had closed on them, he had drained one glass, was starting to pour a second drink, and was speed dialing a number on his cell phone.

It was not quite 5:00 PM on Friday; she might still be in her office, he thought. His call was answered on the third ring.

"Offices of Katalya Goldwyn Bristol."

"Kat, its Richard Edgar." That was what she had always called him; no one else used his middle name, but that was the moniker she had adopted for him alone, and nothing was going to make the Connecticut Yankee change her use of it, especially after almost fifteen years.

A lyrical laugh came over his speaker. "Author Richard Edgar, my favorite client," came the woman's voice, soft with a gentle New England accent.

Castle automatically corrected her, as he always had since he had hired her on a spur of the moment decision all those years ago. "Kat, your ONLY client."

It was so good to hear her voice, Castle realized. For many years, this had been his most steady female relationship; up until he had met Katherine Beckett almost two years ago. Castle realized that he had not thought of Beckett for almost fifteen minutes. A new record in his recent history, but not unexpected, considering what had recently transpired at his front door.

"Richard Edgar, you keep me busy on a fulltime basis; how could I accept another client? It wouldn't be fair to take someone else's retainer and then completely ignore them. Between your book deals, personal appearance contracts, and the fact that I oversee all of your investments, not to mention doing my best to keep some of your more memorable albeit juvenile stunts out of the public's eye, if I did have another client, they would sue me for lack of oversight . . ."

Castle cut her off, knowing that if he failed to do so, she was capable of talking almost as much as he did.

"Kat, this is serious."

She immediately shut up. "What is it, and what can I do?" Although the relationship between the two had previously been best described as "friends with benefits", the physical aspect to their friendship had been discontinued four years ago when she had met and had been courted by her future husband. Like Castle's track record, it had proved to be a short marriage that had produced twin sons and a divorce within fourteen months. Still, they both knew that they could rely on one another, and she was always prepared to protect him, cut through the crap, and, if necessary, take Richard Castle by the hand and safely lead him through whatever minefield he had managed to uncover. She had done it many times, too many to count, if the author was to be honest with himself.

Castle realized that the image of them navigating through a mine field was a little too close to the truth, considering his present situation.

"I've been called up. Re-activated."

There was not so much as a momentary pause before an earthy single syllable profanity was heard over the speakerphone. The New England accent didn't do much to soften the sharpness of the emotion behind that word.

Castle continued, "I need to amend my Will. Tonight, Kat."

"How long did they give you? Two weeks? Seven days?" There was no response from Castle. "Less?"

"Forty-eight hours. I need to let you know that Mother and Alexis are out of town until about this time tomorrow."

The zoftig platinum blonde woman had already reached into her filing cabinet and was holding a light blue envelope containing a signed original of his Will and Medical Directive. She placed those in her carrying case for her laptop and started to thumb through CDs containing various legal forms. She was finalizing her selections when she spoke again.

"I'll bring over the forms. I'll also print out your latest financials and bring a hard copy with me. I can be at your place in about, ah, forty-five minutes. Should I stop and bring take-out for dinner? This could take a few hours to make sure everything is finalized, witnessed, and in order . . . just in case."

"We'll order something from here, later."

She paused. "Should I bring my toothbrush?"

The man considered that statement, and then realized that he was starting to become aroused by the thought of her return to his bed. Some physical release from his self-imposed denial of carnal pleasuring just might be a good idea.

"Please." It wasn't likely that Beckett was going to appear at his door and want to throw herself at him in the next few hours.

"See you shortly." And the phone connection went dead.

Castle started to walk toward his study in order to jot a few thoughts down on a legal pad before Katalyna's arrival. Then his phone rang. He looked at the caller I.D.

It was Kate Becket. There was probably a recent homicide for him to join her and her team of detectives on.

Without a pause, Castle let the call go to voice mail.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

KATALYNA was standing at his door in less than 40 minutes. She knocked, using the "shave and a hair cut, two bits" rhythm, and let herself in with her key.

"Richard Edgar?"

"I'm in my office," he called out, and she draped her coat over the back of the sofa as she made her way across the great room to the hallway leading to his study.

"I brought everything with me," she started, only to discover that he had already fanned out his original copies of his legal documents, and had been attaching a rainbow of sticky notes with hand written questions and additions to the papers as they were presently written. She glanced at his bold handwriting, and how it barely fit on the small stickey notes.

"You know how much I hate it when you write with Sharpies," she dryly observed, unconsciously reminding him that he usually used Sharpies to autograph the cleavage of his admirers.

"Shush. Just finishing up a thought. . ." He dotted an "i" and crossed two adjoining "t"s on the small square of paper. "This needs to be made absolute and unable to be changed or challenged in court. I'm adding a new guardian for Alexis. Just in case."

Katalyna looked at him with mild alarm. "Is there something I should know about your mother?"

"No, she's fine. Still crazy, but fine. I just wanted another guardian for Alexis. If something should happen to me . . ."

"Nothing is going to . . ."

He held up his hand. "IF something happens to me, I don't want my mother uprooting Alexis and dragging her over the country while she performs in some second-rate, 99-seat theatre touring production, like she did to me." The bitterness in his tone left no room for doubt of the sincerity of this particular wish on his part.

"I like to think that those experiences gave you your character, Richard Edgar."

She placed her shoulder bag on the floor near his keyboard and walked over to where the author was seated. She stood between his chair and the documents, and placing her hands on his shoulders, Katalyna tilted her body towards him in order to give him a gentle kiss on his forehead. He looked up and attempted to smile at her as she smoothed back his hair.

"I'm not in the best of moods."

"Understood. Let's get the paperwork out of the way, and then we can explore your depth of character."

His second attempt at a smile was only slightly more successful than his previous effort. "Promise?"

However, she did note that he was trying to look down the front of her blouse. It would be a tense evening, but Katalyna knew that Richard Edgar Castle couldn't be in better hands than hers. Literally and figuratively.

"We will play later. School work first, and then recess. And, we have a lot to catch up on. Is this a plan?" The woman discovered that she was thinking of several sexual positions she wanted to try on Castle, but at this moment, she needed to be all business. Pleasure could be easily postponed for the next three hours.

He nodded. "We might really scare the delivery service."

She playfully slapped his bicep. "Time to get to work. Tell me, who you are thinking of to watch over your Alexis."

"Kate Beckett."

"Nikki Heat?" Katalyna looked at Castle. "Are you sure?"

"They know each other, and Kate is what I want Alexis to become: A strong, independent, intelligent woman." He smiled. "Just like you, Katalyna."

She thought about what he had said, including the backhanded compliment.

"Did I tell you that I've already arranged for Alexis to be accepted into Yale?"

"She's thinking about Oxford."

"The one in England? Where they drive on the wrong side of the road?"

He nodded without much enthusiasm.

Katalyna shook her head. "A two-hour limousine ride verses a nine-hour international plane trip, Castle." The New Englander in her was coming out: the Revolutionary War was still alive in parts of Massachusetts and Connecticut. Her eight-times great uncle had been a patriot, and Castle had heard all of the stories. One he had included in a Derrick Storm novel. She had told him that she had not been pleased, but he knew that she was actually delighted that the Otis Family had been included in a book that had made it on to the Best Selling List of the New York Times.

She was reading several of his sticky notes while she continued her conversation. "And, I can probably promise you a slot for Alexis in either Yale Law School or Yale Medical."

He thought about that. "I have no idea what Alexis might want to be. A lawyer or a doctor? Recently she told me that she wanted to be a Mississippi River boat gambler."

"Thatched roof cottages versus New Haven ivy-covered bricks? Not much of a choice for a sixteen year old, Richard Edgar."

"Hmm. You went to Yale, didn't you?"

"I still have connections. And at Harvard, too. My nephew is on the faculty. But Yale has already agreed to take her. I told them that she was my daughter. Hey, it worked for the Bush family. . ."

Despite his somber mood, the twinkle was returning to Castle's blue eyes.

"Okay, I know when I am defeated. You may retain your position of "Education Tzarina". And, if Alexis agrees, start preparing those tuition checks to Yale. One more thin, add Kate as guardian until Alexis reaches the age of twenty-five."

"Twenty-five? Alexis is NOT you, Richard Edgar. I'm to hold everything in trust for, what, another nine years? I think not." Her lime green eyes stared directly into his deep blue eyes. "I think twenty-one is called for. You know that I will watch over her like she is my own. You have nothing to worry about considering Alexis."

"I know. And, thank you." He paused. "Now, on the other hand, my mother."

"Martha. Yes, what do we do about Martha? She's only eighteen years older than you, isn't she?"

"Yes. Stop doing the math. I was quite the surprise."

Katalyna smiled. "Why don't you let Detective Beckett oversee her, too? We can set up separate accounts for Beckett to manage, and she can doll out allowances to both Martha and Alexis."

There was a small silence, and then Castle had his first good laugh in a week as he imagined Nikki Heat handing out money to Martha Rodgers. "Let's do it."

"Any particular set up you want for this?"

"I'll trust you with the details." He paused. "Kat, what am I worth now? Just out of curiosity?"

She reached for her shoulder bag and pulled out a handful of bank statements that were secured by a large metal clip. Castle saw that there was an excel summary sheet on the top of the statements. "As of about 4 PM on Friday, roughly this," and she pointed to a figure on the bottom of the right-hand column.

Castle looked at it and whistled. "Shit, I'm really rich, ain't I?"

"I've taken very good care of you, Richard Edgar."

"Give yourself a raise. And, put $5,000,000 of that figure," he said, pointing to the number on the bottom of the right-hand column, "into a separate account for Katherine Beckett."

Katalyna nodded. "You want to use that as the seed money for Alexis' guardianship, or should I split it equally between Martha and Alexis?"

He shook his head. "No. The five million is for Kate. Just in case," he added, thinking that if he did die, he would be denied the pleasure of seeing Beckett's expression when she learned that Castle, her jilted lover, had left her a small fortune.

"Richard, are you sure?"

"Isolate the real estate, the invested business interests, and the royalties from my books. Present and future. And add my signing bonus for the Nikki Heat movie rights. That will be the seed money."

"And, what about the rest of your assets? We're talking mid-eight figures here, Richard Edgar."

Castle had made his decision. "That all goes to Alexis. Kate can be trusted to work with you to manage it for my daughter. Set up an account for yourself to draw your fee from. Make sure that I am generous. This is a lot to ask of you, and all at once. . ." His voice faded away, but Katalyna understood what he wasn't saying.

She reached over and put her hand over his. "I'll start on this immediately. Why don't you order dinner while I type this up for your signature?"

He stood up, and it was now his turn to give her a kiss on her forehead. Of course, being Richard Castle, he also managed to cup one of her double-D breasts in his hand. "I think we're gonna need some energy."

He started to walk out of the room, but he turned to face her when he was at the doorway of the study.

"Thank you, Katalyna. I'm almost feeling better already."

"One less thing to worry about, Richard Edgar."

"Yeah. One less thing to worry about."

And, with that observation, he left the room. Katalyna turned her attention to his computer and inserted a CD containing his existing Last Will and Testament for her revisions.


End file.
